


Let All Be Quiet In Your Head

by Morpheus626



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26313373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morpheus626/pseuds/Morpheus626
Summary: A snapshot fic, part of the You Send Me AU with our trans reader x Freddie. Set a few years in the future from that original fic, to the 1980 The Game North American tour. Didn’t choose an exact tour date, just somewhere in there lol.I’ll admit, because it would be wrong of me not to, what you’re going to read about the reader’s father is just...my father. My history with my dad, all the things he’s done, parts of his life. Part of me knows this is a bit much, but you know what? He hurt me again at his last visit a day ago, after I opened myself up to giving him yet another chance to be a good or at least decent bare-minimum dad.So he fucking deserves to be used in a fic like this.tw: misgendering (including use of wrong pronouns and deadname, though in the fic it’s just [deadname] of course since this is reader fic), a lot of arguing, and what I can only best say are descriptions of emotional neglect/abuse (that’s what my therapist defines it as, so that’s what I’m labeling it with here!)
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Reader
Kudos: 4





	Let All Be Quiet In Your Head

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the lyrics of Never Quite Free by The Mountain Goats. I’m also adding the link to info about the song on Genius, because the explanation of it there, about it having to do with trauma never quite letting you go, but finding a way to move on from it, is important in this fic, and part of why I used some of the lyrics for the title: https://genius.com/The-mountain-goats-never-quite-free-lyrics

“I’m sorry, who the fuck are you?” Michael, a member of the security team had his entire body blocking the doorway to the back of the venue. 

“I know someone on the crew,” a voice said, and your heart stopped beating for a moment. 

You had been assisting in readying a few things for the concert (little things that might need replacing mid-show, like strings, or drum pads, etc) but now you bolted down the hall, dodging past your fellow crew members to find Freddie.

“We need to go,” you gasped as you skidded to a stop in the dressing room. 

Freddie, shirtless, with one leg out of the trousers he’d worn to the venue, paused. “Right this moment?” 

You nodded. “We are not dealing with this. Gather the lads, I’m going to find someone else on the security team so they can tell Michael how to deal with this.” 

“Is something wrong with the venue?” he asked, slipping his trousers back on and zipping them, the button of them left undone as he walked after you down the hall. “Is someone hurt? We can’t just go without knowing why.” 

“You’ve met my mum, and her side of the family,” you said. “And you know my history with my dad.” 

You gave him a look, and waited a second until the light bulb dinged on. 

“Really? Here? I thought you said he rarely contacts you.” 

“He rarely does,” you said. “But, we’re in his town, and god I know I told Mum not to tell him I was with you, and working for you guys, but she must have. He’s probably been following the tour schedule and was just waiting for us to get here.” 

“Is he here now?” Freddie asked. 

“Yeah, Michael is dealing with-where are you going?” 

Freddie had wheeled around, and headed for the door where Michael still stood, his voice and the voice of your father getting increasingly angrier and louder. 

“Hello,” he chirped as he walked up to them, with you running on his heels. “Can we help you?” 

“My kid works for you,” your father said, still trying to peer past Freddie and Michael to see into the venue’s back hall. “I was hoping to see her.” 

“Ah,” Freddie said, wincing at your father’s use of the wrong pronoun. “Did you call ahead? And what is their name?” 

Your father balked. You knew he didn’t like using your true/new first name, but didn't often use your deadname either. In fact, you couldn’t recall if he had ever called you anything other than ‘hey...you’ in the few times he had seen you since you’d begun transitioning. 

“Well, it should be [deadname],” he finally replied. 

Freddie shook his head. “Sorry, no one by that name here. Maybe you’ve got the wrong band. Michael, is anyone else playing in town tonight?” 

Michael shrugged. “I only pay attention to the band I work for.” 

“Good man,” Freddie nodded. “I’m sorry you’ve been given incorrect information, but we do need to get back to preparing for the show. Have you bought a ticket? Perhaps we’ll see you in the crowd.” 

It was the same fast patter he gave anyone that he didn’t want to talk to, and usually it worked like a charm. 

Until your father saw you, hiding behind Freddie and Michael, as best you could. 

“[Deadname]!” he cried, then paused. “I mean, hey...sweetheart. Your mom’s friend told me you were working for the band, and I thought, since you’re in town-” 

You gently tapped Michael’s shoulder, and he stepped aside just enough to let you lean in to join them in the doorway. “This would be a good time to see me.” 

“Yeah!” your dad nodded. “So? Are you free?” 

“Not really,” you admitted. “The show is in a couple of hours, and I’m crew so...I need to help everyone get ready.” 

“Could I maybe just bum around with you, while you work? I won’t get in the way; I’ll listen to instructions,” your father said. “I’m a Marine, so I can take instructions. Though I’m high up enough that I give them now.” 

You could feel Michael and Freddie bristle, and you looked to them for your answer. 

“I...for a bit, perhaps,” Freddie said stiltedly. “Though if we ask you to stay put in a spot, we’ll need you to listen. It can get quite hectic.” 

Michael nodded. “And if we say stay out of an area, you don’t go there. Got it?” 

Your father nodded, giving them a look as if they were mad for having anything other than absolute confidence in him. “As I said, I know how to listen. I’m not an idiot.” 

You winced, but stepped aside along with Michael and Freddie to let your father inside. It was a small mercy that he hadn’t shown up in uniform, as he had during the few other times he had bothered to come see you over the years. 

“I’m going to go change,” Freddie said. “But if you need anything. And I mean, _anything_ , Y/N. Come and get me.” 

He looked worried as he walked away, and you had a feeling he feared to leave you alone with your father. He knew every little detail of it all, from the years of seeing your father maybe five times over the course of your childhood as he hadn’t fought for custody of you (he’d been busy with the woman he’d begun dating while your mum had been pregnant with you, and with the child that resulted from that union and eventual marriage that had, unsurprisingly, ended in another divorce for him), to the painful conversations you’d had over the years with your father in trying to achieve something like either A. a decent father-child relationship or B. no contact closure. 

Instead of those things, you had this. 

“So, what is it you do exactly?” your father asked as you both watched Michael resume his post at the door. 

“Little bit of everything,” you replied, and motioned for him to follow you down the hall. “I started as more of an apprentice than anything else, and I’m learning in all different areas of what needs to be done for a show. I’ve got some knowledge about working with the guitar techs, drum tech, bass tech, and some of the sound work. I’d love to learn more about the lighting rigs too, but I’ve been needed elsewhere. And of course, I help out in assisting the boys, getting them things they need, being an ear to vent to, things like that.” 

You paused. “And...I mean...I am dating Freddie as well, so that’s a thing of its own! But it’s all professional when it’s showtime!” 

Your father’s smile fell slightly, and you could feel the tension. He had made it clear at the start of your transition that he wasn’t comfortable with you doing it, but had told you “you’re still my child, and that counts for something.” You had never fully come out to him as gay in addition to being transgender, and evidently hearing it now like this was not going over well. 

But he only made an uncomfortable clear of his throat, and followed as you went about finishing the rest of your tasks. 

It wasn’t the worst, in that moment. It was even oddly nice, seeing him take some interest in what you were doing. 

But then he spoke. 

“Are you sure that should go there?” he asked, pointing to the strings you were setting aside near Brian’s wing of the stage. 

“I am,” you replied confidently. “Best to have them right here, so if he breaks a string, we’re ready to fix it for him.” 

“Seems like they might be in the way,” your father said. “Wouldn’t want anyone to ruin them by bumping against that crate.” 

“Might seem that way,” you said, although you did not see it that way at all, and didn’t know of anyone else on the crew who would agree with him. “But it’s the tried and true method for us, you know?” 

His smile was tight, but you ignored it, and led on to the next wing to help set up things for John. 

“I don’t mean to overstep,” your father started again, and you bit back a frustrated sigh. “But there’s a lot of stuff in the way here, isn’t there? You can’t just leave that for someone else to trip on.” 

“It won’t be,” you said. “But I’m not the one in charge of that; the folks that are using those crates and what’s in them will move them before show time.” 

“You’re here right now, aren’t you?” 

You stared down into the crate you were digging through, and fought back at what you wanted to say to him. “I am. But as I said, I might cause issues for everyone else if I move the things they’re using or working on right now. Best to stick to what I’ve been assigned, that’s how we work like a well-oiled machine.” 

You were echoing what you’d been told during some of your first days on the crew, to help you acclimate to working with the team. It had proven to be some of the best advice you’d gotten. It didn’t mean you couldn’t be a safety net for each other to ensure everything got done, but it also meant you trusted each other to do your jobs, and to ask for help when needed, not to let a problem get out of control. 

However, the only problem for this night was following you, and huffing more and more at everything you did that you could tell he felt was done ‘wrong.’

On your next pass down the main hall, you nearly ran into Brian. 

“Sorry,” he smiled. “Who is this?” 

“I’m [deadname]’s father,” your father said, pushing past you to reach a hand out to Brian. 

“You mean Y/N?” Brian asked, a brow raised. The crew and band, over the years of getting close and comfortable with them, now knew most things about you and your transition, including your deadname. However, they also knew the importance of that name not being used for you and were protective over making sure no one else ever used it for you. 

Your father’s smile didn’t falter, but he didn’t reply. 

Brian gave you a curious look, but shook your father’s hand. “Well then. Pleased to meet you. I’m Brian. I take it Y/N is giving you the backstage tour, all the little secrets?” 

“Well, she’s obviously still learning,” your father replied. “I mean, I tried to let her know what could be done better, but I’m sure the crew will get on her, right? A little tough love goes a long way!” 

Brian looked peeved now, and all but jerked his hand out of your father’s. “He knows his job very well, actually. He’s sort of our jack-of-all-trades, can go almost wherever we need him. Except the lighting rigs, but we’re going to get him up there someday when there’s time for teaching all that, right, Y/N?” 

You nodded. “I’m looking forward to that day!” 

Your father nodded, and didn’t turn to look for your reaction. “So, I’m not really a fan-” 

“Okay,” Brian chuckled. 

“But I do play guitar on the side some, and I wanted to talk technique with you.” 

You could see the ESCAPE NOW sign flashing in Brian’s brain, but he nodded instead of bolting from the hall, as you would not have blamed him for doing if he had done. “I don’t know how much advice I can give-” 

“I think I’ve got some good advice for you, actually,” your father interrupted. “You play well, but there’s always room for improvement, right?” 

“There is,” Brian said slowly. You knew he didn’t consider himself some godly player, but he also knew his level of skill and worth with the guitar. And it was certainly well above your father’s occasional slapping at an acoustic. 

“That’s my man!” your father said, and slapped Brian on the back. 

He was seeing red now, his mouth pursed, but you had to give Brian kudos for not immediately smacking your father across the face as you could tell he likely wanted to. 

“Perhaps we can speak on that if you’re here after the show,” Brian said shortly. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten something in one of the other rooms, excuse me.” 

He moved past you gently, giving your upper arm a soft squeeze as he did. It felt like an apology, for leaving you with your father. 

“Kind of rude,” your father remarked as you led him on down the hall. Your next task was to ensure the lads didn’t need anything or any help in getting ready; they almost never did, but it would always be a part of the pre-show ritual, just in case.

“Everyone gets a little short around this time,” you defended. “They’ve got to focus in on their jobs. We all do.” 

“You certainly have walking around and messing with things down to an art,” he snipped. 

You stopped, and turned to him. “Yeah, I do.” 

You continued on, ignoring the scoff from him as you did. Any time before, you wouldn’t have had time for his shit simply on principle. But now, you really truly did not have time to deal with his bullshit. 

You had a band to help get on-stage, in only another hour. 

“Good evening, boys,” you greeted Roger, Freddie, and John. Brian had yet to return, you figured waiting until he didn’t hear your father’s voice anywhere near by before he would dare to enter the hallway again. 

“Y/N!” Roger grinned. “Freddie says you’ve got a guest!”

You nodded. “This is my dad. He actually lives here, and he knew we were in town-” 

“So here I am!” your father interrupted, and went round to shake hands with all of them, even Freddie, who shot you a puzzled look at that. 

“Anyone need anything? Usual checklist, food, water, clothing repairs, human sacrifice, you know,” you said, and smiled as the boys giggled. 

“We’re alright,” John said. “Don’t know about the others, but I’ve barely seen you all day. Nice to have the moment to check in with you.” 

“What do you do in the band?” your father asked John, stepping back and nearly in front of you. 

“Bass,” John replied. 

“Cool! You know, I play guitar,” your father said. “Which is pretty similar to the bass, I’m sure you’ve noticed.” 

John was giving him a look that could kill, but it didn’t seem to phase your father one bit. 

“And I was actually trying to talk to the guitarist earlier, Brennan, I think?” your father continued. 

“Brian,” Freddie corrected, the disgust in his voice only barely hidden. To anyone who knew him decently well, however, it was obvious in his tone.

“Sure,” your father said, not even looking over to Freddie. “I wanted to give him some tips that I’ve picked up, but he brushed me off. Maybe you could use them?” 

“No thanks,” John replied, as politely as you knew he could manage with the frustration brewing, evident from the wrinkles in his brow.

“Come on,” your father pushed. “Consider it fatherly advice.” 

You had also shared your history with your father with the rest of the band. They were all less than pleased with it, to put it gently, and were sympathetic to you, but John in particular had been upset about it all. Maybe it had to do with him having three kids of his own, maybe it was just because you were good friends with the whole band now, or maybe there was some other factor in his life that you didn’t yet know that made him more sensitive to it all. 

But he was openly angry now. 

“I’m sorry, but what I know of you does not designate you as much of a father,” John said sternly. 

“Sorry?” your father scoffed. “You don’t know me, so I don’t know how you could say anything like that.” 

“I know about you,” John said. “Y/N has told us everything, from his childhood up until now. And if I ever behaved as you have with him? I would not only expect my children to not want to be around me or to contact me, but I would encourage them not to, because I would have obviously lost my manners, common sense, and ability to parent.” 

The room was painfully tense. Roger and Freddie were watching with held breath, same as you, and you moved to stand near where Freddie was sat. 

“You have children? You look like a boot, fresh into Camp Pendleton,” your father chuckled. “Noodley arms and all.” 

“I have three,” John replied sharply. “All with one woman, my Ronnie, and not strewn across the countryside.” 

“You’re a saint,” your father spat sarcastically. “Do you look down on every man who happens to have had more than one spouse, and kids with each of them? Or just me?” 

“Just you, actually,” John said. “Because you don’t care about your son, that’s evident to me. You care about having things to show off, and that includes your children. That’s not what children are for.” 

Your father opened his mouth to protest, but John raised a finger to show he wasn’t done. 

“Not that you would know. From what I’ve been told, you were only there to help raise the last two you had, with your current wife,” John said. “And do I ever pity her. What a quandary: to stay with you and deal with you when you surely must be even more insufferable at home, or to leave, and hope she can manage the children alone, while you bounce to the next woman and drop a few new ones in her.” 

“That’s enough,” your father said harshly. 

“I’m not fucking finished,” John spat. “I know Y/N has a lot of this he’s wanted to say, but he hasn’t gotten the chance. And I’ll be happy to cede the floor to him in a moment, so he can take over and say his lot. But I’ve been fuming over this since he told us everything about you, and you’re going to shut up and listen. I know you aren’t much good at that, per Y/N’s time with you, but I also know you like to talk about yourself and no one else. So this should be satisfactorily masturbatory for you.” 

For once, your father was shocked into silence. 

“How can you treat your own child that way? In every conversation Y/N has recalled to us, you cut him off, don’t listen to him, don’t seem to care about what he has to say. You ask, sure, but that’s purely to perform what you think you’re meant to do with a child, isn’t it? You tick that box, and then you can move on to boast about your work with the military, or your other children, and you expect Y/N to smile and congratulate you. But have you ever done the same for him, aside from the most basic ‘oh good?’ Don’t answer, I know you haven’t,” John continued. “I know that no parent can know exactly what their child feels. I wouldn’t expect you to mind read, and Y/N doesn’t either-” 

You nodded. 

“But you could have considered how he feels. With never seeing you-” 

“I’ve come to see her, and had to fight to get her to agree to it,” your father interrupted. 

“I barely know you as a person!” you shouted. It was too hard to hold back anymore. “And when I was little? I knew even less! I knew your name, I knew that you were a Marine, I knew that you found someone else before I was born which is why you and Mum divorced, and that’s why my first half-sister is so close in age to me. But aside from that? I didn’t know how act around you, how you might be as a person. I was a shy kid to begin with; it was all the more difficult to go with you anywhere all of the five times you came to see me before I turned eighteen because I...” 

You faltered. “I didn’t know you. And you didn’t know me, and you didn’t make the effort to get to know me, even when I did the same for you. I was able to tell the boys not just what all that was like, but about the things you love. Your favorite foods, hobbies, color, activities that you do with my half-siblings. Could you tell them any of that about me?” 

The room was deathly quiet. 

“I don’t have to put up with this,” your father said coldly. “I did you a favor by coming here to see you; I didn’t have to do that.” 

“No, you didn’t,” Roger said, standing from his chair to come over and wrap an arm around you, while Freddie held tight to one of your hands. “And from the sounds of it, you shouldn’t have done it at all. I think you need to leave.” 

“I thought Y/N had something more to say to me?” your father asked mockingly, glaring back at John. 

The tears had welled up past the point of hiding them, but you nodded. “Why? Why are like this with me? Because you feel I didn’t ‘make enough effort’ as a kid to somehow get to know you in five visits, most of them barely an hour long? Everyone I’ve talked to, my therapist included, says the onus should have been on you to get to know me, and the relationship could have developed from there. Did you ever want to have one with me? Did you ever want to really be my dad? Did you even want kids, or were we just accidents you had to pay child support for?” 

He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t come here to listen to you whine.” 

“And what about me now?” you continued, ignoring his comment. “I know you don’t like that I’m transgender; you may not have said it out loud but it’s there. In your tone, that look you give me whenever I talk about anything in relation to it, like you’re humoring me by listening to me. The last time we saw each other, you could barely spend an hour with me, you winced when we hugged, which I only did because you wanted the damned hug anyway! You told me I was still your child and that counted for something, but I don’t think you fucking meant it. I think you said it because you felt like you were obligated to say something like that” 

You wiped at the tears with your free hand. “You clearly aren’t a fan of my relationship either. Don’t think I didn’t see the look on your face when I mentioned it. For someone who lies about everything from his achievements to whether he’ll be in town to see his kid or not, you’re a horrible fucking liar.” 

His eyes flashed, and you knew you were in for it. But it was cathartic all the same, to finally say so much of what had been in your head for years, whenever he was brought up, the few times he had come to visit you (and when he was in town, it was never _just_ for you; there was always some bigger, more interesting thing for him like hunting or seeing his old friends. You were an afterthought, a ‘since I’m here, I may as well.’) 

“I’ve tried, since becoming an adult, to give you more chances. To see if we could make it work. But it’s like trying to build a house with someone with no foundation, and the other person won’t even try to help set one up,” you said softly. “I need closure. I can’t do this anymore, and I think if you were honest, you’d admit you don’t want to either. Hell, one of Mum’s friends told me that you were telling their old high school friends that you were disowning me. That was two years ago! Yet here you are. So what is it? Is this over, and I’m disowned, and we don’t talk again, or do you want to try and make equal effort with me, and be my dad properly, for the first time in your life?” 

He stared at you. At Roger, who was holding you close. At Freddie, who was squeezing your hand in the pattern of threes he always did when you were nervous or upset. At John, who was glaring him down with a frightening ferocity. 

You looked, and realized Brian was in the doorway. You had no idea how long he’d been there, but he was glaring down your father as well, so it had to have been for awhile. 

Your father looked at you, shook his head, and left. 

He pushed past Brian, past every crew member in the hall who had gathered to try and see what all the shouting was about, and you crowded out in the hall among them with the boys. 

And watched him walk out of the venue, without another word. 

\---

The show went on as planned. There wasn’t much time to finish getting ready, but you pushed everyone to hurry. You could see in everyone’s eyes, from the lads to your fellow crew members, that they wanted to talk to you about what had happened. 

But there wasn’t time for that, not with fans waiting. 

It was only after, with everyone settled in the hotel room you shared with Freddie, that the dam finally broke. 

“I should have hit him,” Brian mused. “I’m not a violent man. But he deserved it.” 

“I would have liked to have had a turn as well,” John said. “I’m still absolutely furious with him. To hear all of that, if he listened at all, and then to just...go. If I ever act like that towards my own children or Veronica, you all have my permission to slap some sense back into me.” 

Roger nodded. “Think I could have done with a smack to him. Freddie used to box, that would have been the real show.” 

Freddie chuckled and shook his head. “Agreed, but all the same, I’m glad it didn’t come to that. It was terrible enough as it was. Are you alright, Y/N? As alright as you can be, I mean.” 

You nodded slowly. “I think so. I will be, at least. If nothing else, I finally got him to hear everything I’ve had in my mind. And thank you, John, for your part in saying it. I needed the help to get going; you said it all as I would have.” 

John reached over and gave your hand a squeeze. “Glad I could help. It was really satisfying, wasn’t it?” 

“It was,” you replied. “I just wish it had ended differently. I thought...I always try to give him a chance, you know? I thought maybe he would have surprised me, and said that he wanted to try and work on a relationship with me. But if he isn’t willing, then I hope he just leaves me alone from now on. It just would have been nice if he had wanted to try...I mean, I’ve never really had a dad. A grandfather, yes, and an uncle, and some men I looked up to as father figures but never really knew. But that’s not the same.” 

They piled on top of you, and you barely had enough time to set aside your drink onto the nearest end table before they did. 

“I know you don’t see us that way,” Roger said. “And I’m glad you don’t, it would be weird if you did, all things considered. But if you’d like, we can play at it sometimes. I’ll yell at you to clean your room.” 

“I can teach you how to ride a bike, or something,” John added. 

“You don’t have homework anymore, since you aren’t in school,” Brian said. “But I could give you homework, about space or something about it, and then I could get on you about finishing it. I’d make it fun, I promise.” 

“And all three of them can have a talk with me about making sure I’m good enough for you, and that I’d best not break your heart,” Freddie said. He was closest pressed to you, and gave you a quick kiss. “Not that anyone need worry about that.” 

“I know my heart is safe with you,” you said. “And thank you, all of you. I’m sorry you had to deal with him in any capacity tonight.” 

From under Freddie, Brian, Roger, and John’s arms, you could hear the crew’s words of assurance, and it made everything feel so much better. Despite how your father had been, no one hated you for this actions. An irrational thing you knew, but even so, it was nice to have the worry assuaged.

“God help me, if he comes back again, I’m physically tossing him away,” Michael said, and the mood of the room lifted even more as everyone laughed. 

The boys clambered back off of you, and Freddie found his bottle of beer again, only to raise it. “A toast: to the promise that if any of us should see him trying to come around again before we leave town, we will physically toss him as far away as we can!” 

You raised your glass of water while everyone else raised their drinks, and it was perhaps the most fulfilling drink of water you’d ever had as the toast concluded. There was nothing that could erase what had happened with your father, in the past and now, but there was a future to look forward to. One likely without him, but with more love and care from the boys and crew than you could ever have gotten from your father. 


End file.
